


Oliver's Trip Home

by LindeHobbit



Series: Writing Our Hearts [4]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Feelings, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-08
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-09-14 10:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16911498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LindeHobbit/pseuds/LindeHobbit
Summary: Oliver prepares to take a weekend trip home to Connecticut for his father's retirement party. All is not easy with his soul, but Elio helps to ease his mind (and his heart).





	1. The Journey by Train

**Author's Note:**

> This is the fourth installment in my series, Writing Our Hearts. Though it could stand alone, you'll probably enjoy it much more if you've read the first three stories.
> 
> My stories are mostly CMBYN movie-verse with details from Andre Aciman's beautiful novel thrown in where I want them.
> 
> The first chapter of this story is (mostly) a departure from the letter-writing format of the earlier ones. A letter is coming in the next chapter, I promise! I just couldn't figure out a way to do this chapter as a letter...I thought we needed to be with Oliver in the moment. I hope you agree! The second chapter will actually get to Oliver's visit with his family.
> 
> Your feedback means a great deal to me and helps me become a better writer. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Please do not re-post my work without my permission. Thank you.

As Oliver trudged into Grand Central Station, he felt as if he was moving on weighted legs. He’d gone for a long run earlier in the morning in an attempt to burn off some of his nervous energy, reluctantly pulling himself away from Elio curled warm and sleepy in his bed. But the exercise only provided a temporary reprieve; Oliver’s anxiety and dread had returned after his run as he’d moved around his apartment packing an overnight bag. While he’d muttered to himself and angrily stuffed clothes and toiletries into his duffle, Elio had made them both coffee. When he’d brought a mug to Oliver, with a splash of milk added just the way he liked it, Elio had let his hand linger over Oliver’s as he handed him the cup. Another touch to commit to memory. Their early-morning lovemaking had been slow and gentle, Elio sweetly beneath him, their lips and tongues and hands seeking all of each other. Oliver had carded his fingers through Elio’s curls and kissed them over and over. He wished he could kiss them again now.

Elio moved beside him across the tiled floor, the swish of his blue windbreaker a comfort to Oliver as the soaring, starlit ceiling of the station opened above them. He was grateful for Elio’s presence, but dreaded having to say goodbye to him and get on yet another train, alone. He knew that this time it was only for a little over 24 hours, not for an unspecified, torturous amount of time. But it still cut him to even think about it. He wanted to hold Elio’s hand as they walked, but he didn't feel brave. Not here, in this cold world.

Oliver left Elio by the newsstand, and went to the window to buy his ticket. For his return trip tomorrow, he opted for a morning train back to New York. He had no desire to stay in Connecticut longer than strictly necessary; he’d leave after breakfast.

Ticket in hand, Oliver crossed back to Elio, and they found the signboard that listed all the trains and tracks. Oliver’s train had not yet arrived, so they went in search of food, finally settling for some not-quite-stale pastries. Oliver’s cinnamon roll tasted like sticky cardboard in his mouth, but he made himself take a few bites, hoping his stomach would settle a bit with some food.

“You OK?” Elio asked him. It was an obvious question; Elio understood that he was far from OK. But in his perceptive way, his love was inviting him to talk.

Oliver tried to find the words. “I’ll be OK. Seeing my family just makes me nervous.”

“Why? I mean, maybe it would help to talk about it?”

“Maybe. Well, um, they don’t exactly think I’m doing impressive things with my life.”

“What would they have you do instead?”

“Probably be a lawyer, or an investment banker like my father. Being a medical doctor might have been acceptable. But a doctor of philosophy? Not so much,” Oliver said, hearing the bitterness in his tone. Elio nodded, his face falling.

“And then I had to top it all off by breaking my engagement to the perfect rich Jewish girl. My failure is now complete in the eyes of my parents.”

“What is she like? JoAnn?”

The question surprised Oliver. But he supposed Elio had every right to be curious about the woman he’d almost married.

“Well, we grew up together…went to the same private school, and she also ended up at Columbia for graduate school. Law school in her case. She’s attractive, and very smart. She can move effortlessly in the kinds of circles my parents inhabit. And she’s Jewish. She would have given Mother and Father pretty Jewish grandchildren.”

“Did you love her?”

Oliver took a deep breath, and met Elio’s gaze; he still looked sad and perhaps a little guarded, the usual sparkling green of his eyes muted. “Yes, after a fashion. As I said, we grew up together, and we’ve been friends for a long time. She’s a good person. She’s kind and charming, and thoughtful. When I was resigned to hiding my true self in a marriage, she was a good choice. I don’t think we would have been miserable together. But after I met you, everything changed.”

They had wandered to a secluded alcove in the station, and Oliver stopped, stepping closer to Elio and finally taking his hand. “Before I met you, I thought I’d just have to settle in that part of my life…marry a woman, pretend I loved her in that way, and just keep putting one foot in front of the other. I figured I could throw myself into my work, at least, and that hopefully my wife could be a good friend. But then you came along, and none of that worked for me anymore. I had tasted real…real love…and I couldn’t be satisfied faking it.”

Oliver squeezed Elio’s hand. “That’s what it all comes down to, Elio. I love you. You don’t have to say it back if you’re not ready. It’s OK.”

Elio’s green-amber eyes burned into Oliver’s. They opened comically wide for a moment before crinkling as the most beautiful smile transformed Elio’s face. “Oliver! Oh my god, you actually said it! I love you too!”

Oliver’s heart was beating very fast. “You do? I was afraid I was saying it too soon. But I just can’t help it. It’s what I feel! I’ve felt it since our first summer.”

“Me too. I know I was only 17, but love is not off-limits to 17-year-olds.”

Oliver laughed. “No, it isn’t. And you were, in many ways, an old 17, you goose. My brave, dearest goose.”

A giddy laugh bubbled from Elio, and he swung Oliver’s hand from side to side playfully. Oliver felt suspended; time seemed to stop for just a moment in the warm glow of love that surrounded them. He silently asked his eyes to memorize the beloved face before him, even though he knew he’d see it again tomorrow.

Suddenly the loud-speaker broke the spell as it crackled above them, announcing Oliver’s train: “New Haven 1408 to Stamford.” Oliver squeezed Elio’s hand once more before dropping it, and the two moved toward the platform. As they approached their point of separation, Oliver’s heart fluttered in his chest again. It was just really hard to think of leaving Elio behind. The memory of another parting at another train station was still too close.

They stopped near the train and turned to face one another. Elio squeezed Oliver’s shoulder, and seemed to read his mind. “This is not Clusone. I’ll see you tomorrow. And maybe…well, I just hope it’s a better trip than you expect. I know you’ll be happy to see your brother and sister-in-law, and meet your nephew.”

“Yes, that’s true,” Oliver said. It was then that he noticed that Elio had pushed a small bag into his hands.

“What’s this?”

“Wait until you’re on the train, then open it.”

Oliver cocked an eyebrow, and couldn’t help the smile that spread his lips. “Mysterious. Thank you, Elio.”

“Elio Elio Elio,” came the whispered reply.

“Ol-i-ver.” Oliver pulled Elio into his arms for a brief but tight hug. He let his nose linger in those gorgeous, silky curls for just a moment. And then it was time to step back. But this time it would be a different leave-taking.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, smiling at Elio.

“Yes! Have a safe trip. Call me when you’re back in the city.”

“Will do.”

Oliver looked quickly around him; it didn’t seem that anyone was paying them much attention. He caught Elio’s eyes and mouthed, “I love you.”

Elio’s smile could have lit the entirety of Grand Central Station. His lips shaped the same words in reply. And then it was time for Oliver to turn and go. But as he mounted the steps into the train compartment, his heart felt lighter than he had expected. He found a window seat, and put his face close to the glass to wave to Elio. His love waved back, and for a moment looking so much like Annella, blew him a kiss. Oliver laughed. The Perlmans had changed his life dramatically, and so much for the better. He loved them all.

After the train pulled away, Oliver opened the small paper sack Elio had given him. In it was Elio’s Walkman and headphones; a cassette tape was loaded in the deck. There was also an apple, a peanut butter and banana sandwich (one of Oliver’s favorite things in the world), a package of Skittles, and a Snickers bar. At the bottom of the bag was a note in Elio’s handwriting. He’d penned it on staff paper, fitting his words neatly into the five-line systems that music more commonly inhabited:

_Oliver,_

_I know this trip may not be easy for you. I’m sorry things are so difficult with your family, and I wish I could help. I just want you to remember that I’m always with you, even when we’re in different places. You may be on a train speeding north, but my heart is going with you, and will be with you through whatever happens this weekend. I’m always on your side. You know that, right?_

_I also thought you could use some food and treats since you hardly ate a thing this morning. I hope you enjoy the goodies._

_Oh, and I made you a mix tape. I hope the music relaxes you._

_I’ll see you tomorrow! Hugs! Kisses!_

_Love,  
Elio_

Oliver looked at the contents of his lap, grinning and shaking his head. The mix tape and candy had obviously been planned in advance, and Elio must have put the food together when Oliver was in the shower this morning. But when had he had time to write the note? Perhaps when Oliver was buying his train ticket? It was fun to imagine him sneakily composing these words, looking over his shoulder to make sure Oliver wasn’t watching. However he’d done it, the whole thing was magical. Lying in Heaven once during their first summer, fretting over his book manuscript and soliciting Elio’s thoughts, Oliver had told him that his words may have been the kindest thing anyone had said to him in months. And now, more than a year later, Elio’s kindness was once again making Oliver feel things he’d never felt before. No one else had ever been so good to him.

Oliver traced the lines of Elio’s cursive reverently with one fingertip. He turned his face to the window as tears threatened to fall, holding the paper over his heart. Elio LOVED him. He’d said so this morning, but even if he hadn’t, this care-package made it abundantly clear. Oliver stared out the window with watery eyes as the train moved through Harlem. He didn’t know how he’d gotten so lucky, and on his darker days, he wasn’t at all sure that he deserved Elio. But the fierce joy of his love was finding ways to poke through that darkness more and more often. He smiled at the steel and concrete speeding by outside, and opened his sandwich.

Once he’d eaten and read Elio’s note several more times, Oliver felt much more centered. As the train raced out of New York City, he put on the headphones and pressed play on the tape deck. Elio’s voice greeted him:

“Hi Oliver. I’ve gotten the sense that visiting your family is really stressful for you, and I thought maybe some music might help. So I’m just going to sit down and play for a while. I hope it helps you relax. And remember, I’ll see you very soon!”

Oliver heard the soft rustling of Elio settling himself on the piano bench, and his slow intake of breath before he began to play. He started with the short Bach piece that he’d played for Oliver in a variety of styles as they flirted during their first summer; this time, he only played the simple rendition that Oliver liked best. From there, he moved into the aria from Bach’s _Goldberg Variations._ Leaning his head against the cool window, Oliver could feel his muscles unclench and his breathing deepen as he listened with closed eyes. Sometimes he could hear Elio exhale or shift around, and in certain passages he hummed along with the music as he played. Oliver imagined that he was sitting near the piano, just a few feet away from him, rather than on a train. It was comforting, and Oliver’s heart swelled with the thoughtfulness of Elio’s gift. It was so much more than the music. It was the peace that he felt in Elio's presence.

Oliver rested and breathed as Elio moved through some Brahms, Ravel, Chopin, and Rachmaninoff. The B side of the tape was all improvisation…he riffed on some of the music he had played on the A side, and also included some original ideas he was working on. His skills as a composer were definitely developing, Oliver had noticed. Elio had told him that he planned to take composition lessons in the spring semester, and he seemed very excited about the prospect.

The tape concluded with a single piece played on the guitar: it was, once again, the sweet Bach piece that had captured Oliver’s attention during their first summer. A very appropriate bookend. Oliver heard the thuddy sounding of the strings as the guitar was set down, and then Elio spoke again:

“Oliver, whatever happens with your family, I’m here for you. I’ll see you tomorrow! I can’t wait to hug you and hear about your trip. Hope it’s better than you expect. Call my dorm when you get back. I’ll try your home phone mid-afternoon if we haven’t connected. LATER!”

The tape concluded with the sound of Elio’s gentle, breathy laugh. Oliver felt as though a hundred pounds had fallen from his body. Elio’s love was like warm water, lifting him with its buoyancy, and supporting and surrounding him from all sides.

The tape’s ending coincided perfectly with the train’s arrival into Stamford, Connecticut (more Elio magic), where Oliver had to change trains to the Shore Line East. He reached for his duffle, reverently placing the contents of Elio’s care package inside it, and moved towards the door of the car.

Oliver’s next train would take him to Old Saybrook, ten minutes away from his family’s home in Old Lyme, Connecticut. His brother, Josh, would meet him at the Old Saybrook station. It had been several months since Oliver had seen Josh, and longer still since he’d seen Kate, his wife. Josh had come to New York for a business meeting last spring, and he and Oliver had met for dinner. It was good to see him, but they always seemed to run out of things to talk about. Their lives were very different.

As Oliver settled on his second train, he wondered whether he’d ever feel ready to tell Josh, or anyone in his family, about Elio. He found himself fervently wishing that he could tell his beloved Bubbie, his mother’s mother. But she had died last summer, not long before Oliver left for the six weeks in Italy that would change his life forever. Oliver liked to think that Bubbie knew about Elio somehow; he was sure that she would have loved him, and he thought Elio would have adored her. It made him sad to think that they would never meet. Of all the people in his family, Elio had definitely heard the most stories about Bubbie. And Oliver still massaged Elio’s feet, Bubbie-style, every time he was tired or had a nosebleed. Oliver sighed as he watched the golden, orange, and red trees race by outside. His heart felt full and warm with thoughts of Bubbie’s love, and Elio’s, even as the coldness he often felt in the presence of his immediate family grew closer, minute by minute. He looked at his watch. Still more than an hour to go…time enough to listen to Elio’s tape a second time. Oliver opened the Snickers bar, covered his ears with the headphones, and let Elio’s voice and music transport him away once again.


	2. A Letter from Connecticut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for not giving up on me, and for sticking with this story! I'm sorry that it is coming so slowly. As both a church administrator and a semi-professional musician in my outside-of-writing life, December is a very full, fun, and tiring month of my year, and it always takes me a little while to recover. But it's great to be back to a more normal pace and schedule, and I continue to enjoy spending time with these beautiful characters so much.
> 
> Thank you for your lovely comments and kudos...they mean so much to me, and help me know what is working (and not working) in my writing. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy learning a bit more about Oliver's weekend at home. More to come!

October 13, 1984

Dear Rob,

I’m writing you from my parents’ place in Connecticut; I’m up here for an overnight visit. They had a huge, fancy party to celebrate my father’s retirement earlier this evening. Everyone else has gone to bed, and I’m sitting up alone drinking Father’s expensive scotch and wishing I was home. Since I can’t sleep, I decided to do something productive and write you a letter! 

So, how the hell are you, brother? Are you liking Los Angeles? I sure miss you at Columbia, but I was so happy that you got the job at UCLA…no one deserved it more, and it sounded like such a perfect fit for you. I just wish L.A. was not on the other side of the country! And I’m sorry that you had to move out there before Elio arrived in New York. I really want you to meet him! You just need to come visit…my couch is always available. If you see a cheap plane ticket, you don’t have to ask…book it!

Rob, man, I can’t thank you enough for all your support this past year. I’m sure I was a fucking DRAG to be around when things were falling apart with JoAnn, and all the time I was pining for Elio. Thanks for sticking by me. You’re a good friend, and you really helped me hold it together and figure things out. Seriously, I have you to thank for not letting me give up on Elio; the letter that you practically made me write him, the one in January (which the Italian post lost for, like, 3 months! Totally insane!), set us on the path that we’re on now. It’s so good for us to be in the same city. We’ve figured out our schedules (for now) and have been spending as much time together as we can. Elio is loving Juilliard, as I knew he would, and he’s also really soaking up New York City; it’s been so fun showing him all my favorite spots. I finally took him to Molly’s last weekend; he loved the vibe and the music, though he’s a few months away from being able to enjoy the awesome beer selection (he turns 19 in January). It was great to introduce him to our beloved watering hole, but you should have been there too, man! I walked in half expecting to see you sitting at our table.

The party tonight for my father was about what you would have expected. The house was perfect, the food tasted almost as good as it looked, the bar was well-stocked, and all the guests were elegantly coiffed and polite. In spite of the fact that I’ve known most of these people my whole life, I barely had a substantive conversation all evening. Dear old Dad made a little speech after the champagne was poured, and he really turned on the charm. It makes me so mad to think how few people understand how cruel he can be. I gazed around at all of them laughing at his jokes, smiling and toasting him, and thought _none of you really know him._ My mother stood next to him, looking like a model in a fashion magazine for middle-aged women, her _we have guests_ smile plastered on her face. At least the party has been enough of a distraction for my parents that I haven’t gotten grilled about the “failings” of my life yet. I fully expect that to happen over breakfast tomorrow morning.

One good thing about this trip has been seeing my brother and his family. Josh and Kate had their baby last month, and my nephew is a cutie. His name is Adam. It’s hard to say who he looks like at this stage…he mostly sleeps. Kate asked me to hold him for a while during the party when I was sitting in a corner trying to disappear; it was nice to feel trusted, and I think she enjoyed being able to walk around unencumbered for a few minutes. When she came back, she encouraged me to keep holding Adam since he was still sleeping peacefully, and we talked for a bit. Kate comes from a perfectly comfortable background, but not the level of affluence of my family, so I wonder sometimes if she, also, feels a little out of place at big soirees like this one. We actually had a very pleasant conversation, definitely the most interesting one I had all evening. She encouraged me to come up to Boston to visit sometime; I felt like she was really trying to reach out. It was a breath of fresh air. And as the party wound down, Josh came and sat with us too. Adam eventually woke up, and Kate excused herself to go feed him, so Josh and I had a few minutes on our own to talk. He actually reiterated Kate’s invitation to come up and visit, and he seemed interested (or at least made an effort to feign interest…hard to tell…but either way appreciated) when I was telling him about my courses this fall. He’s working very hard right now trying to make partner at his firm, but hopes he can relax things a bit work-wise after that happens. The legal world sounds so cutthroat and exhausting. I know academia can be that way too, but I’d still rather be doing what I’m doing.

Josh and I also talked about Bubbie a bit: how much we miss her, and how strange it still is not to see her around the house. It was nice to have someone to talk with about her. I miss her so much. And I know she would have loved Elio. Ironic, huh, that she is the person in my family I would have felt comfortable telling about him. It makes me sad that they will never meet, at least not on this earth.

During the conversation with Kate and Josh, I did find myself temped to tell them about Elio. But I could not quite make myself do it. For one thing, I don’t actually know how they feel about gay people. It has absolutely NEVER come up in conversation. One time when I was 15, Josh walked in on me making out with this guy named Jason; we messed around a bit for a few weeks while he was publicly dating the captain of the girls’ tennis team. Anyway, Josh definitely saw us in a pretty compromising position. He just shut the door and walked away. I was mortified. Later, he pulled me aside and told me not to worry; he would never tell anyone. But that’s all he’s ever said about it. Hard to know where that leaves us now, all these years later. Maybe someday I’ll be ready to tell them. But I can’t imagine ever telling Mother and Father…I just don’t want to put myself (or them, frankly) through that pain. In some cases, ignorance really is bliss, not that my parents are exactly blissful people.

Well, it’s nearly 1:00 AM, so I should probably wrap this up. It makes me happy to think that I’ll see Elio again in a few hours. I just have to try to sleep a little bit and survive breakfast, and then I’ll be back on a train, heading for home and my love. He’s turned me into a total romantic, it seems. He made me this care package for the trip up: food, candy, and a cassette of him playing piano. It meant THE WORLD to me. Elio is so good to me...he’s always really thoughtful. Part of me keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop, but the longer we are together, the quieter my “worried voice” is in my head. I truly believe that he would never deliberately hurt me; it just isn’t in his nature. And his parents are absolutely wonderful, and completely(!) accepting of our relationship. I know I told you after our first summer that I felt like they were treating me almost like a son-in-law; that feeling has only intensified. Their kindness is so genuine. It warms places inside me that I hadn’t even realized were cold. And Samuel (Elio’s dad) continues to be an amazing mentor for me career-wise as well. I can’t believe how much my life was changed by 6 weeks in Italy!

OK, now I really will let you go. Hope this letter finds you having a great semester and loving life in L.A. You are missed in NYC, brother! Come visit! I still have the same phone number even after my move this summer, so give me a call when you can.

Love you, man,  
Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In New York State, the legal drinking age was raised to 19 in December of 1982. It was raised again, this time to 21 (where it remains today), in December of 1985.


	3. Elio's Sunday Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you haven't given up and are still with me for this story, first of all, THANK YOU! It's coming, it really is, but my personal life has been unrelentingly busy the last few weeks.
> 
> Here is a short chapter; the longer, reunion chapter for these sweet guys is coming soon!

Elio’s eyes opened into the disorientation of not being where he expected to be. This was the first Sunday morning since he’d started school that he’d awoken in his dorm room at Juilliard rather than in Oliver’s sunny bedroom with his love’s arms wrapped around him. He rolled over quietly; he could hear Dave, his roommate, snoring softly in the bunk below him, and didn’t want to wake him. The clock said 7:08, early to be up on a Sunday, but Elio felt fully conscious. He sat up slowly, pushing his hair back from his forehead and stretching his fingertips to the ceiling as he yawned. Then he swung down from the bed, sticking a quiet landing on the rug. He tiptoed across the room, grabbing some clothes from his open dresser drawers, and headed for the bathroom. 15 minutes later, showered and dressed, he ventured out into the October sunshine in search of coffee and food.

His favorite breakfast spot, Francesca’s, was run by an Italian expat; it also happened to be a few blocks walk from Juilliard. Elio didn’t hurry, enjoying the cool morning air and the warmth of the sun in his damp curls. When he pushed open the door of the bakery, the aromas of fresh bread, warm sugar, and espresso competed for dominance, filling his nose delightfully. Francesca stood behind the counter, a striking woman in her early 50s with silver threaded through her black, wavy hair and glittering dark eyes. 

“I don’t usually see you in here on Sundays,” she observed in Italian.

“Yeah, Oliver’s out of town. Coming back later today.”

“Aw, that’s why you’re up so early. No strong arms to rock you back to sleep,” Francesca teased, her bright eyes dancing.

Elio stuck out his tongue and rolled his eyes at her. But when he met her gaze, he couldn’t help smiling. “I need to bring him here to meet you next Sunday.”

“Yes, I want to see how much you are exaggerating how good-looking he is.”

“I’m not, I swear! He’s seriously the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”

“We’ll see,” Francesca said, though her expression was kind. “What are you having today?” 

Elio pulled out his wallet and handed her a few bills. “Espresso, please. And as usual, surprise me.”

Francesca rang something up on the register, and handed Elio back some of the money, which he then stuffed into her tip jar. She laughed, shaking her head, and moved toward the espresso machine.

The café was quiet since it was still early, so Elio had his choice of tables. He settled into his favorite spot by the big picture window, a soft, comfortable chair with a small table beside it. Francesca brought over his espresso, along with a _fette biscottate_ that she’d baked that morning, and house-made strawberry jam to accompany it. Elio smiled and thanked her; she placed a gentle kiss on the top of his head and tousled his hair before heading back to the counter. It reminded Elio, powerfully, of Mafalda, and he could not help but sigh. He missed the uninhibited way that Italians showed affection. As he savored his coffee and the crunchy, buttery pastry, he stared out the window and let his thoughts wander. The warmth of the bakery, its familiar food and drink, the sound of Francesca speaking Italian on the phone…all of it could almost convince him that he was sitting in a café in Milan. But outside the window, the tall buildings and all those New Yorkers rushing by did not preserve the illusion. Elio was becoming accustomed to his homesickness; it was now more a dull ache rather than the insistent pressure around his heart or emptiness in the pit of his stomach that he’d felt sometimes in his first few weeks in America. He loved Juilliard and New York, and being with Oliver was sweet solace, even on the hardest days. But the culture shock was still real, and he’d been surprised by its strength sometimes. Francesca’s bakery let him be unabashedly Italian while he relaxed within its homey walls; it was a relief and a comfort.

Soon, though, Elio felt the call of the piano, and the work he wanted to do before Oliver returned. Standing and brushing crumbs from his shirt, the taste of espresso still lingering pleasantly on his tongue, he waved goodbye to Francesca and shouted “Ciao” over his shoulder as he opened the bakery door.

“Ciao tesoro,” she called in reply. It warmed him through. Elio smiled as he turned on the sidewalk to head back toward Juilliard. He found the practice rooms largely uninhabited this early on a Sunday, so he had his pick; he chose a room with a pretty Steinway baby grand whose action his fingers particularly enjoyed, and settled in. He wanted to have some good practice time now so that he could spend as much of the rest of the day with Oliver as his love would give him. He had powered through most of his written homework yesterday after he’d seen Oliver off.

Elio sank into the music, deconstructing and rebuilding a particularly intricate section of Bach’s _Goldberg Variations._ When he’d gotten the passage under his fingers, he began sketching out a new composition that he’d been playing with in his head for a few days. The time flew by, as it often did for Elio when he was communing with the piano. He paused to stretch, and looked at his watch.

“Oh wow, time to go!” he said aloud to the empty room. He’d checked the schedule at Grand Central Station yesterday, and was fairly confident that he knew on which train Oliver would return. And he wanted to be there to meet him; he’d thrown out the ruse of the phone call to try to give Oliver another happy surprise.

A few minutes later, Elio ran into Grand Central Station, breathing fast from hurrying downtown, or perhaps he was just excited to see Oliver. He rushed past all the travelers and headed for the set of doors where passengers from Oliver’s train would emerge. He had scoped out where to wait the day before.

“Time to make new memories,” he thought, as he settled into the perfect place to stand, “better ones than that terrible day at Clusone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Auguste Escoffier School of Culinary Arts, _fette biscottate_ is an Italian pastry that "pairs perfectly with jam, especially if it’s homemade. Some tend to be sweet, while others have a more buttery taste. ... The key is that fette biscottate should have a nice brown color and crunchy texture."
> 
>  
> 
> "Ciao tesoro," Francesca's sendoff to Elio, translates as "bye sweetheart."


	4. Oliver's Homecoming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! To any of you still with me, first of all, THANK YOU, and second, I hope this last chapter was worth the wait. I had a crazy-busy February. Happy to be in March, and finally reuniting our dear boys.
> 
> I do have plans to continue this series with future stories (and more letters!). I'm having too much fun spending time with these beautiful guys to call it quits just yet. So I hope you'll continue the journey with me.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading, and for all your encouraging kudos and comments! They mean so much!

Oliver curled toward the window on the train, resting his pounding head in his hand and allowing his heavy eyes to slide shut. His parents’ words from earlier that morning bounced around his brain in a perpetual, battering loop, drowning out the rhythmic clacking of the train as it sped south. Breakfast had been what he’d feared it would be, an accounting of his perceived shortcomings. Sympathetic looks from Josh and Kate had helped a bit, but his parents were still relentless.

_“Academia does not pay well. How will you ever support a family?”_

_“I just can’t understand why you and JoAnn couldn’t work things out. It was the perfect match.”_

_“At the rate you’re going, you’ll never marry. Is that really what you want, Oliver, to be alone your whole life?”_

_“I really don’t understand your fascination with words and art made by people who’ve been dead for centuries. What does any of it matter in today’s world?”_

_“You could have gone to work at my firm, or at least picked a career that would support you. You make everything so much harder than it needs to be.”_

_“Aren’t you lonely? I could set you up with my friend Martha’s daughter; she’s in New York City frequently.”_

_“Why would you go back to Italy over the holiday break? You should come home and see your family.”_

Oliver realized that his heart was pounding, and he was sucking in air as if through a tiny straw. _Enough,_ he thought. He reached down into his bag and pulled out Elio’s Walkman. Fitting the headphones over his ears, he settled his head against the cool glass, closed his eyes, and once again, let Elio calm him down. He reminded himself that he would have his love in his arms before the day was over. Oliver smiled through his hangover and bruised ego, and breathed with Elio as he played. If he could have this, he could handle the hellish, uncomfortable interactions with his family. Elio felt more like family to him than any of them, and Samuel and Annella more like his parents than the people he had just left behind in Connecticut. Blood was not the only thing that could make a family. The Perlmans accepted him and loved him, just as he was.

With each mile that Oliver traveled away from Connecticut, he felt more of his muscles relax. He had done his duty as a son, and had even enjoyed some surprisingly nice time with his brother, sister-in-law, and new nephew. The dreaded weekend was over, and he was headed back to his life, and to Elio.

When the train pulled into Grand Central Station, Oliver sighed deeply with relief. He was home. He could call Elio as soon as he was back in his apartment. He’d be hearing his voice soon. Oliver grabbed his duffle bag and moved toward the door of the compartment, giddy with anticipation and grinning like a fool in love. That’s what I am, he thought.

When he stepped into the station, it took Oliver’s eyes a couple of seconds to register what he was seeing. It looked like Elio…could it be?! Elio waved and called his name, his face beaming. Oliver started to run, and swept him up in his arms, lifting him off the ground and spinning him around once. He felt Elio’s breathy laugh against his chest.

“Hi! Welcome home,” Elio said, squeezing Oliver’s shoulder as he was set back on his feet.

“You’re here?”

“I’m here.” Elio grinned a little smugly.

“Wow, I can’t believe it. You’re clever, you know that?”

“Uh huh.”

Oliver laughed. “Well, I’m starving…barely ate any breakfast. Want to get lunch and go back to my place?”

“Sounds perfect.”

They headed out into the street. “Shall we walk for a bit? It’s such a pretty day.”

“Works for me,” Elio said, smiling at him. Oliver felt the last of the ice that had pressed around his heart over the past 24 hours dissolve in the warmth of Elio’s gaze. As they moved, Oliver kept stealing glances at him, and found his love doing the same thing, making them both grin. He playfully nudged Elio’s shoulder, a reminder of their bus ride to Bergamo. The happy time before the heartbreak. But now, Oliver thought, they could enjoy the good memories again. Being together, really together, gave them back those delirious, bittersweet days in Bergamo, and tipped the balance to remembering the joy.

“I missed you,” Oliver said, bumping Elio’s shoulder again.

“I can tell. I missed you too.”

“And Elio, thank you so much for the care package. It changed the whole trip for me.”

“Really? Are you serious?”

“Yep. All of it was so thoughtful…the food, the candy, your note. But the tape truly saved me.”

“It did?”

“Yes! I was so stressed out on the way up, but listening to you play calmed me down. I breathed with you, and relaxed to the music. I listened to the tape twice on the way up, and again this morning on the way back.”

“Wow! I’m really happy that it helped!”

“It did. A lot! Thank you. It means so much to me.”

“You’re very welcome. I’m glad I could help in some way.” Elio smiled warmly at him, and brushed his hand against Oliver’s briefly as they walked.

“Not just some way. A big way.”

Oliver led them up to Central Park and they meandered their way north along the tree-lined paths, stopping to buy warm, soft pretzels from a food cart. They found some sunny rocks to perch on as they savored the salty goodness, chewing in contented silence and stealing small touches when no intruding eyes were pointed their way. After they’d finished, Oliver steered them out of the park to the subway, and they hopped a train uptown.

“I’m still hungry,” Oliver announced a few minutes later as they strolled through the Upper West Side on the way to his apartment.

“What else is new? It’s like you’re the 18 year old, not me,” Elio laughed.

Oliver swatted his arm happily and then directed them to his favorite neighborhood sub shop, conveniently along the walk home; they got their sandwiches to go. The walk back to the apartment was quiet. Oliver knew that Elio wanted to hear about his weekend, and he wanted to tell him. But right now, talking wasn’t what was on his mind. Elio called to him in a way that had nothing to do with words. Oliver ached for the warmth of his skin, craved their hearts beating together, needed to feel Elio breathe as much as his own lungs required air. Talking could wait for a little while.

As soon as Oliver closed the door to his apartment behind them, he backed Elio against it and drew him close for a kiss, coaxing his lips open with his tongue and burying one hand in his love’s soft curls. Oliver walked his other hand under Elio’s t-shirt, his fingers sprawling over his flank and back.

“I thought you were hungry,” Elio teased, impishly poking Oliver’s stomach as he kissed his sternum through the open top buttons of his shirt.

“I am hungry. For YOU,” Oliver growled. He pulled a giggling Elio with him into the kitchen so he could toss both of their sandwiches in the fridge before picking Elio up around the waist to carry him to the couch. As Elio relaxed into the soft cushions, Oliver pulled his own shirt over his head, and dropped it to the floor without a second thought. He climbed onto the couch, straddling Elio’s hips as he stretched over his long, lean body.

“You feel so good,” Elio murmured, running his hands up and down Oliver’s bare back.

“Yeah? You’re one to talk.” Oliver worked his hands under Elio’s t-shirt again, and Elio lifted his arms impatiently to encourage its removal. As soon as his shirt had joined Oliver’s on the floor, Elio pulled him close so their chests were flush.

“Mmmmm. Maybe you should give me something else to do with my tongue,” Elio said against Oliver’s lips.

“Challenge accepted,” Oliver replied, stopping Elio’s mouth with yet another kiss, and another, and another. Elio sighed blissfully, carding his fingers through Oliver’s hair.

Oliver broke their kiss and lifted his head to look into Elio’s eyes. He never tired of the swirl of colors there, green and amber-gold, more beautiful than the rarest of gems. A brush of lips to Elio’s temple: “I missed you.” A slow kiss to his neck: “I love you.” A swipe of his tongue along Elio’s collarbone: “I want you.”

“Elio, Elio.” Whispered, breathless.

“Ol-i-ver,” in reply.

And then they were lost. Somehow, in the clumsy, happy struggle to get their pants off, they both ended up on the floor in a laughing heap of limbs and kisses. They stayed there for a while, but when Oliver eventually suggested that his bed would be warmer and more comfortable, Elio agreed. Oliver offered both hands to his love, and helped pull Elio to his feet, stopping for a moment to simply look. Elio gazed back, his eyes wide and euphoric as they moved lovingly across Oliver’s face and chest. Oliver admired the long, slender lines of Elio’s body, his skin glowing as if in moonlight, a perfect scattering of freckles and moles adorning him like constellations waiting to be named.

Oliver squeezed Elio’s hand, and they moved toward the bedroom together. Mingled with Oliver’s insistent desire was that fierce joy again, that Elio magic lighting their way. They tumbled into Oliver’s bed, burrowing under the covers, seeking each other. Oliver fell into Elio as if he were a warm, deep swimming pool from which there was never a need to come up for air. As his lips traced this and that, his hands roaming and worshiping, there was only one coherent thought that he could process: _I am so in love with you._ Oliver heard Elio speak his own name as he pressed closer and tangled their legs together; he responded with a multitude of _Oliver_ kissed all over Elio’s flesh. The heat, the feeling of Elio completely with him, in him, around him, all of this quieted the voices in his head that told Oliver he was a disappointment, that he wasn’t good enough, that what he felt for Elio was wrong. This could never be wrong. No, he was born for this. Deeper and deeper Oliver fell into Elio until he wasn’t sure where his own body stopped and Elio’s began. It hardly seemed to matter.

After, they napped, their limbs entwined and Elio’s head tucked under Oliver’s chin. Even in sleep, Oliver’s arms were always trying to pull him closer. When he dreamed, it was of Crema in the sunshine, and Elio smiling at him over his shoulder as they rode their bikes toward the Berm. The dream then shifted to evening and the outdoor dance club where they had danced on many warm nights, but never with one another. This time, the floor was as packed as ever, but Oliver felt free and fearless; he took Elio in his arms, and they swayed together. No one around them seemed to care…they were simply another couple dancing. Vimini smiled at them from a table near the dance floor. When Oliver awoke, the dream stayed with him for a while. As he held the still sleeping Elio, he wondered whether what he had lived in the dream might be possible in this world some day. Times were changing. It was already 15 years since Stonewall. Maybe, just maybe, in their lifetimes, they could embrace in the sun in Crema, or dance the night away outside just like any other couple. Elio made things seem possible for Oliver that he would never have imagined before. “You are magical,” Oliver whispered, kissing the warm curls still nestled under his chin. “Love you love you love you.”

Oliver must have drifted off again, then, because the next time he was aware of anything, it was the sound of the refrigerator door closing. He opened his eyes to the discovery that Elio had gotten up, but it must have been recently since the sheets were still warm. Oliver swung his long legs out of bed, grabbed a t-shirt and some sweatpants, and padded into the kitchen. Elio stood with his back to him, his willowy body dwarfed in one of Oliver’s huge Columbia sweatshirts. He had placed both of their sandwiches on plates, and was clearly planning to bring them in to Oliver; he’d also started a pot of coffee.

“Hi,” Oliver said, coming up behind Elio as he reached for two mugs, and wrapping his arms around him. He kissed Elio’s neck, and relished the happy sigh that his touch elicited, the way that Elio leaned back into him.

“Ciao amore,” Elio replied, turning so that they were chest to chest, and looping his arms around Oliver’s neck.

Oliver could not resist a kiss to those perfect lips. “Looks like you’re hungry.”

“Yeah. I was a little hungry before, but you were an excellent distraction. And I also needed a nap. But now I’m definitely hungry.”

“Not surprising. It’s nearly 4:00. When do you have to head back?”

“No specific time. I did most of my homework yesterday, and also practiced yesterday and this morning. The rest of today is for you. But if you need to do stuff….”

“Nope. I had time yesterday afternoon to work on my lesson plans for the week. I was hiding from the tornado my mother turns into when she’s getting ready for a big party. And I’ve got nothing to grade right now…my students are between papers.”

“Well then, let’s eat and talk. I want to hear about your trip.”

Oliver carried their sandwiches to the living area while Elio poured them coffee. They settled on the couch with their plates and mugs, their thighs touching. For a few minutes, both were quiet as they ate their sandwiches quickly.

“So good,” Elio said through a mouthful of bread, cheese, and salami.

“Mmm-hmm,” Oliver agreed.

“So…tell me.”

Oliver set down his now empty plate, and picked up his coffee cup, holding it close to his heart for a moment before sipping long and slow. The warmth was comforting. He took a deep breath, but he wasn’t sure where to start. Elio waited patiently. He reached for Oliver’s hand, weaving their fingers together.

“Love you. And I’m always on your side. Remember?”

“I love you too. And thank you.” Oliver squeezed Elio’s hand. “It’s just hard to figure out where to begin. I’m not used to talking about my family.”

“I’ve noticed. It must be weird for you since I literally talk about mine ALL THE TIME.”

“Actually, I love that about you. It’s good to be reminded that not all families are like mine.”

“Well, you’re part of my family now, so when I talk about them, that includes you,” Elio said gently, caressing Oliver’s hand with his thumb.

Oliver squeezed Elio’s hand once more before letting it go so that he could put his arm around his love’s shoulders and pull him close. “I’m still so amazed by that.”

“It’s true. Since the first summer.”

“I know. You Perlmans are a force of nature.”

Elio chuckled, and snuggled closer to Oliver, sipping his coffee.

“OK, so, the weekend.”

“Yeah, I survived,” Oliver quipped.

“I want to hear, Oliver.”

“I know you do.” Oliver took a gulp of coffee, and breathed slowly in, then out. Finally, he started talking. He began with Josh picking him up at the train station, and their pleasant but slightly awkward conversation in the car on the short ride back to the house. Josh was excited for Oliver to meet Adam, and they found Kate sitting on the porch swing with the baby when they got back. They all made small talk for a few minutes, but Oliver knew he should go in and say hello to his parents.

He found his father in his study reading the paper. He shook Oliver’s hand stiffly with a brusque “welcome home, son,” and then dismissed him by burying his nose back in the business section. Oliver’s mother was bustling around the house, directing the caterers to set up the party. She stopped long enough to come over and allow Oliver to kiss her cheek, and said that she hoped he had brought other clothes for the party. Then she flitted off again, working on flowers and champagne flutes.

Oliver returned to the porch to find Josh and Kate about to head inside; Adam had fallen asleep, and they thought they would go nap, too, before the main event. So Oliver settled into a rocker from which he could enjoy the autumn foliage and gentle breeze, opened his notebook, and worked on his lesson plans. He was left alone. Every once in a while, his mother’s voice would carry from inside, ordering this to be put there, or figuring out the timeline for the serving of the various courses. But Oliver just stayed out of the way, passing a productive if slightly uncomfortable afternoon alone. When the sun began to sink low in the western sky, he went inside to change for the party. He always stayed in his childhood bedroom when he visited, but it now bore no resemblance to the room he had grown up in, save for the same bed, dresser, and desk. It looked like any other guest room, comfortable but impersonal.

Oliver told Elio about the party: the well-stocked open bar, the elegant food that he hardly tasted, the superficial conversations with his parents’ friends and acquaintances, his father’s charming speech as his mother stood beside him with her frozen smile, the warm surprise of being asked to hold Adam, and the unexpectedly pleasant conversations with Kate and Josh.

“They both invited me to come visit, independently of each other,” Oliver said. “I was pretty shocked. It was a new thing.”

“We should go,” Elio exclaimed, and then seemed to realize what he’d said. “Or you should, of course. I mean, I’d be happy to go with you if you want me to, but you definitely should.”

Oliver tightened his arm around Elio, and kissed his hair. “I actually almost told them about you. I really wanted to. I just have no idea how they feel about this,” Oliver gestured between them. He told Elio the story of Josh walking in on him as a teenager, and then never bringing it up again after his initial assurance of secrecy.

“I’ll bet he knows, Oliver. It doesn’t sound like he’s a dumb guy.”

“He’s not. And Kate’s quite bright too, and very perceptive. You may be right.”

“Maybe your parents even suspect.”

“If they do, I think it’s the kind of thing where they hope I never mention it.”

“Are you sure? Maybe it would be a relief to acknowledge the elephant in the room.”

“I dunno. I think it would probably be more like the elephant smashing all the crystal and china.”

“Maybe it needs to be smashed.”

Oliver sighed. Then he told Elio about the breakfast conversation. “If you could call it that. I didn’t say much. My parents basically just listed all the ways that I disappoint them.” 

When Oliver turned to look at him, Elio’s eyes were flinty with anger. “They had no right to talk to you like that! What the fuck is wrong with them?”

“Elio, you don’t know my parents. They live in this perfectly controlled world, and they would literally not know what to do with themselves if their bubble was burst. Even though I don’t have a close relationship with them, I don’t want to cause them that pain. It’s just easier this way.”

Elio stroked his smooth chin in a gesture that reminded Oliver of Samuel contemplating his beard. “Nothing seems easy with your family. I guess I can’t help wondering how much harder it would really be if you were honest with them.”

“No, that can’t happen. At least not with my parents.”

“Why? You’re not financially dependent on them. They’re not supportive of you in any way that I can see. You were so out of sorts yesterday morning before you left…you really dreaded seeing them. It seems to me that the worst that could happen is that you wouldn’t have to visit them anymore. Would that be so bad?”

Oliver exhaled incredulously, shaking his head. He took his arm from around Elio’s shoulders, and scooted forward on the couch, dropping his head into his hands.

“Hey,” Elio said, moving close to Oliver again, and rubbing his back. “I’m sorry if I’m being an idiot. I haven’t met your family. I just hate seeing how much they hurt you.”

Oliver sighed, leaning into Elio’s touch. “You’re not being an idiot. It’s just hard for you to imagine what it’s like to have unsupportive parents.”

“You’re right. That is hard for me to imagine. But you know what? You don’t owe them anything. You’ve put yourself through school, and built your own career and life. You haven’t asked them for anything since you left home. If you told them about us and they cut you off, would it actually be that different than the life you’re living right now?”

“I don’t know, Elio. It’s a lot to think about.”

“I know, I know. I’m not trying to pressure you. I just want you to be happy.”

“If I told my parents, I’d have to tell Josh and Kate also.”

“True. And then there would be no more secrets. And at least the possibility of acceptance.”

“Pretty slim possibility, I think.”

“No way to know unless you try.”

“But I would be really sad to lose the ground I seem to have gained with my brother and his family. I want to be Adam’s uncle.”

“You are his uncle.”

“I know, but if I tell them, they might not let me BE his uncle,” Oliver shouted. He stood up and paced around the room once, stopping by the window and looking out over the city.

Elio came to stand beside him and massaged his shoulder, finally sliding his hand down Oliver’s arm to knit their fingers together. “I can’t understand how anyone wouldn’t want you to be a part of their life. You’re the best person I know, Oliver.” Elio kissed Oliver’s shoulder slowly, and squeezed his hand.

Oliver turned to face Elio, and took him into his arms. They stood by the window together for several minutes, just hugging and breathing. Elio’s hands made slow circles across Oliver’s back and shoulders, and Oliver buried his nose in Elio’s curls.

“I’m sorry I yelled. It wasn’t at you.”

“I know that, silly. And don’t worry about it. Italians yell all the time.”

Oliver smiled into Elio’s hair. “For the record, you’re the best person I know too. But your parents are close seconds.”

“Yeah, Samuel and Annella aren’t bad, they’re not bad,” Elio joked, taking them both back to the memory of the day they first kissed at Elio's spot.

Oliver laughed. He stepped back so he could meet Elio’s eyes and take both his hands, swinging them between their bodies. “I’ll think about all of this. Really.”

“You don’t have to. It’s your family. And I support you, no matter what.”

“I know. But you have a pretty amazing head on those gorgeous shoulders, Elio Perlman. Your thoughts matter to me. It’s just a lot to roll around in my brain.”

“I get it. Anytime you want to talk more, I’m here, OK?

“OK. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Oliver closed the distance between them and kissed Elio gently, sweetly. “I love that I get to do that. I’m so lucky.”

“I’m lucky too. I love this, Oliver.”

“Someone has our first summer on his mind.”

Elio turned his head to gaze out the window. His eyes looked at New York City, but their focus was far away, beyond the buildings and bustle. “Uh huh. Sometimes it’s still kind of unbelievable to me that it all happened. Us, I mean,” Elio said quietly. He looked back at Oliver, then, and the corners of his mouth turned up adorably.

“I know exactly what you mean. Those 6 weeks in Italy changed everything for me. Everything.”

“Me too. I thought you were just moving into my room, but you went and moved into my heart too. I was wrong to call you a usurper, though."

"Usurper? When did you call me that?”

“When you’d just arrived the first summer. Marzia and I were watching from the upstairs window as you got out of the car and met my parents.”

“Huh. So strange to think of a time before I knew you.”

“Yeah, I know. Anyway, I meant usurper of my room. But that wasn’t fair; I gave it willingly. And you didn’t take anything by force. You were just you, and I couldn’t help but notice.”

“You were impossible to ignore too. When I’d sit outside alone every night, I’d spend hours imagining you in my arms, and trying to figure out how I’d survive if I never got to hold you. I was a mess.”

“I was too. Nosebleeds and all,” Elio laughed.

“I really think the foot massages help with that.”

“If you say so. I think you just wanted to touch my feet, at least the first time.”

“Goose! They really help. Bubbie would say so, and she knew everything.”

“Well, all right then. I accept that.” Elio’s expression grew more serious. “I’m sorry I never got to meet her, Oliver. I know you miss her a lot.”

“Yes, I do. And I’m sorry too. She would have loved you,” Oliver said. “I really missed her this weekend.”

“I’m sure.”

They both turned to look out the window, arms around each other. Elio rested his head on Oliver’s shoulder. The city moved restlessly around them.

Suddenly, Oliver turned Elio to face him. “Hey, I just had an idea!” he said, a wide smile transforming his face.

“Given that expression, I’m guessing it has to do with food.”

Oliver punched Elio’s arm playfully. “Actually, yes. I want to take you to my favorite ice cream place! And I thought it might be nice to get some fresh air too, after our afternoon of indoor leisure.”

“Ha! Agreed. Maybe a shower before we go?”

“Excellent idea. Want to go first?”

“I could. Or…we could just shower together. If we’ll both fit. We might have to stand pretty close to each other.” Elio raised one eyebrow.

“Yes, very close. But I think we can manage it.”

Elio held out his hand. “Want to find out?”

“Sure. At least we’ve had plenty of practice sharing a bathroom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Stonewall Riots (which Oliver remembers while Elio sleeps) took place in 1969 in New York City and were a pivotal event in the gay rights movement in the United States. You can read more about them here:  
> https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stonewall_riots


	5. Epilogue: Evening Letters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I thought I was done with this particular story, and then Elio and Oliver decided that they each wanted to write letters on Sunday evening, and they wouldn't leave me alone about it. So away we went! Hope you enjoy this little epilogue. :-)

Sunday, October 14, 1984

Dear Maman and Papà,

Thank you for your letter. It was good to read your news, and I’m glad that you’re both doing well. I especially loved hearing about the surprise birthday celebration for Mafalda that you two sneakily arranged. I’m so glad that she was actually surprised and enjoyed it! Congratulations on getting her out of the kitchen long enough to make her a birthday dinner and cake…that’s an impressive feat! I wish I could have been there. I miss you all. Please give Mafalda a big belated birthday hug from me.

It’s Sunday night before the start of another busy week, but I’m a little too keyed up to go to sleep yet, I think. I just got back to the dorm after spending most of today with Oliver (don’t worry…I knocked out my homework yesterday, and practiced too). This was the weekend that he went up to Connecticut for his father’s retirement party; he left yesterday morning, and returned shortly after noon today, a very quick trip. This afternoon, he finally opened up to me a bit about his family, and what he told me makes me so angry on his behalf. It sounds like his brother and sister-in-law are OK…pretty nice, actually…and would, quite possibly, even be fine with it if they knew about Oliver and me. And Oliver loved meeting his new nephew, Adam. But Oliver’s parents sound so selfish and rigid. From what I understand, they would only be happy if he’d followed their prescribed path: gone into business or law, or possibly medicine, and married the perfect woman. They seem to have no appreciation for the incredible person that Oliver actually is, and zero desire to get to know that person. It just burns me up. I really don’t understand it.

It’s so hard for me to imagine what it was like to be raised the way that Oliver seemingly was, not being encouraged to explore the world and follow his interests. It makes me all the more amazed at the man Oliver has become, in spite of the lack of support from his family (or perhaps, in some ways, because of it). I understand much better now why he left home and never looked back, and why it was so important to him to put himself through college with his own money. And he did it, and his master’s and doctoral programs too!

I want to take a moment to say this: I’m more grateful than ever for the two of you. I am so lucky to have you as my parents. Thank you for your unconditional love and support. And thank you for sharing it with Oliver. Quite literally, it means the world to me. I love you, Maman and Papà. I wish I could hug you both right now.

It’s going to be a busy week. I’m performing on a studio recital on Wednesday (playing Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in D, Op. 23, No. 4, such a beautiful piece!), and I’m also accompanying for rehearsals of Juilliard’s Concert Choir on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday; their regular accompanist is out of town this week. I have midterms (already! time is flying!) in both my music theory and music history classes. And I’ve got a paper on _Their Eyes Were Watching God_ due in my English class on Thursday. I’ve basically got it written…I just need to proofread it before I type it and turn it in. I continue to find that book so thought-provoking; I keep going back and re-reading sections of it. It makes me wish I’d been in New York during the Harlem Renaissance and could have met Zora Neale Hurston and so many of the other brilliant writers, artists, and musicians who were working then. If only time travel was possible! But thankfully, today we can still enjoy the books, art and music these geniuses left us.

I did finally hear from Marzia. She’s doing great! She loves school and is enjoying living in Cambridge. It sounds like she’s made some new friends, too, which doesn’t surprise me…how could you not like Marzia?! She mentioned Jean Marc once in her letter, but it’s not clear how often they’re seeing each other. It sounds like he’s doing fine at Oxford. One pretty cool thing that Marzia said: she’s found out about a semester abroad program that Cambridge has established with Columbia, and she’s really interested in doing that. She’d probably do it in her junior year. So Marzia might come to NYC for a semester! I would be so happy if that happened! ☺

I also got a postcard from Chiara; it had a lovely Paris scene on it that made me miss that beautiful city. I want to take Oliver to Paris one day…he’s never been there. Anyway, it sounds like Chiara’s second year of nursing school is going well. She said to give you two her very best wishes. Oh, and Marzia said to send her love to you both also!

Here’s some family news: my cousin Liz called me last week, and asked if we could meet for lunch sometime. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her that I’m not sure I remember what she looks like (though I certainly remember both of you saying that Liz and I actually resemble each other somewhat). Papà, I know you and Uncle Isaac don’t get along very well, but I thought it was nice that Liz reached out. I think it would be interesting for me to get to know some of my American relatives. I hope you don’t mind. You probably know that Liz is in the graduate program in physical therapy at Columbia. I’ll report back after our lunch. We’re going to try for Friday of this week.

While Oliver was away yesterday night, Dave and I hung out. We got burgers, and then went to see the film _Amadeus._ It’s a great movie as long as you don’t think of it as factual; terrific acting, especially from F. Murray Abraham as a very fictionalized Salieri, and of course the music is glorious. It’s a beautifully shot film. But it is definitely NOT a biography of Mozart (or Salieri for that matter). I’d still recommend it, though. Anyway, Dave and I had fun discussing the movie over milkshakes afterwards. He really is a good guy. I lucked out with such a great roommate! I finally met Dave’s boyfriend, Phil, last week, and he seems very nice too.

I don’t think I’ve told you guys about my awesome find: Francesca’s, an authentic Italian bakery just a few blocks walk from Juilliard! I’ve been loving going there for breakfast on weekends. The owner, whose name really is Francesca, is an Italian expat who’s been in the U.S. for about 25 years now. We always speak Italian to each other…almost from the first moment I met her. Her espresso is so good, and she bakes such delicious things; I just had a _fette biscottate_ there this morning, and it was perfect. It’s so nice to walk in there, and get to be “Italian Elio” for a little while. I love it here, but I do miss home.

I’m finally starting to feel like maybe I could sleep, so I should probably sign off and get ready for bed. I hope you two are doing well! From your last letter, it sounds like you are both busy with your semesters, and that Milan is having a particularly beautiful fall. I wish I was there to see it, but I’m also glad to be here, if that makes any sense. I miss you both!

Love always,  
Elio

P.S. You’re right…we should start working on tickets for winter break. Oliver is planning to come home with me (yay! we convinced him!), so we’ll be traveling together. Maybe we can talk by phone soon to figure things out?

 

* * * * *

 

Sunday, October 14, 1984

Dear Vimini,

I was so happy to get your letter, and hear that your doctors are so optimistic about your continued remission. That is such joyful news! You are truly a marvel, my friend!

I hope that you enjoyed your fall choir concert! Was your grandmother feeling well enough to come? I hope so. And how wonderful that your poem was selected for your school’s literary magazine. It doesn’t surprise me, but I’m still so pleased for you. Perhaps you could translate it and send it to me?

I am tired this evening, but also content. I had a bit of a roller coaster weekend, so it is good to be back home and relaxing as I write you this letter. I went to my hometown in the state of Connecticut (a couple of hours north of the city by train) for an overnight trip to see my family. My father recently retired, and my mother wanted to throw him a party to celebrate this career milestone. It was a difficult trip for me in many ways; as you have no doubt gathered from our conversations, my parents and I don’t see eye to eye about most things. They don’t think that my career path is sensible or admirable, and they are also mystified and upset by my decision to break off my engagement. They don’t know about Elio and me; if they did, I don’t think they would handle it with kindness or grace. It really tests me to be with them, and so I generally plan very short trips home.

The party itself was quite fancy (my mother is a pretty amazing party planner), and I saw lots of people who knew me when I was growing up. But I didn’t feel like most of them were terribly interested in hearing about what I’m doing now, and or how my life is going. The whole thing left me feeling a bit empty, to be perfectly honest.

The only good thing about the weekend was getting to meet my new nephew. Did I tell you that I’m an uncle now? My brother, Josh, and his wife, Kate, had a baby last month, and his name is Adam. He’s so tiny! During the party, I got to hold him for a few minutes while his mother mingled with the other guests. My brother and I have not always had a lot to talk about, but during this trip we actually had some nice conversations. And I also enjoyed talking with Kate; I feel as though I got to know her a bit better. I’m hoping that we can build on these beginnings. Perhaps one day I’ll even feel ready to tell them about Elio.

Speaking of Elio, he was really a great source of comfort and support to me around this trip: before, during, and after. He came with me to the train station yesterday morning to see me off, and it was so good to have his company. He made me a care package for the train ride up; my favorite part of it was a cassette tape of him playing the piano. It really helped to calm my nerves. And earlier today, he met my return train at the station, and we spent the afternoon together. I normally find it very difficult to talk about my family, as you know; you’ve had to pull bits and pieces about them out of me in our conversations. And Elio has had to do the same thing. But today, it was like the floodgates opened, and I just started telling him about the weekend, and how all of it made me feel. It was cathartic. I guess I knew on some level that if Elio and I are going to grow in our relationship, I would have to be willing to tell him more about my past, and my challenging family dynamics. It all sure makes me grateful for the kindness and encouragement that Mr. and Mrs. Perlman have always shown me. Elio actually told me that I’m part of his family now, which touched me deeply.

I’m looking forward to Wednesday; I’m going to Juilliard to hear Elio perform on a recital. He’s playing a Rachmaninoff piece that he put on the tape he made me for my train ride, and it’s really beautiful. I’m excited to watch him perform and listen to the music in person. And we’re having a dinner date afterwards…this week, I want to take him to my favorite Ethiopian restaurant. I think he’ll love it. Have you ever had Ethiopian food? You eat the meat and vegetables with this spongy, sour bread called _injera._ It’s delicious!

Good news: I will be coming to Crema with Elio over winter break! He and his parents have pretty much insisted upon it. I’m learning that it’s futile to fight the Perlmans when they’ve made up their minds, especially when I really don’t want to say no in the first place. I’m so happy that you and your family will be spending Christmas in Crema. I’ve never been there in the winter…it will be interesting to experience it in a different season since I always picture it in summer in my mind’s eye. What a treat it will be to get to see you twice in one year!

Well, I’m stifling yawns, so it’s probably time to call it a day. After this tiring weekend, I’m actually really looking forward to seeing my students tomorrow. I feel fortunate that, on the whole, I really love what I do for a living. Watching students get excited and engage with the material I’m presenting…that’s priceless. I hope that whatever you decide to do with your life (and you could truly do anything you set your mind to), you love it as much as I love teaching. The world would be a better place if we were all passionate about our work.

I hope that these words reach you having a good week! And I'm counting down the days until winter break! I should know our arrival date by the time I’m writing my next letter to you.

I miss you, dear Vimini.

Your friend,  
Oliver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Fette biscottate_ is an Italian pastry that pairs well with jam, and is crunchy and buttery (at least the way Francesca makes it).


End file.
